romdeau | a fishing date;

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a fishing date;

There were no impromptu trips to Sundermount, in fact. Merrill had holed herself up with the Eluvian, avoiding Hawke whenever possible. The Arulin'Holm stayed at the estate, locked away somewhere, and the Dalish woman didn't want to see or hear from Hawke without good cause. Which was understandable (upsetting, but understandable), and she let Varric and Isabela take over Merrill's undertaking. They'd update her whenever possible and she was infinitely grateful, though she knew things couldn't stay that way forever. Eventually, they'd need to talk, and that would happen when Marian was good and ready. For now, she wasn't.

First on her mind was Anders and his mage underground. He would disappear for days on end, surfacing only to work in his clinic where he would refuse to go on any errands. Too busy, he'd say, occupied with his patients and his manifesto. It didn't stop him from pressing worn papers into her hands at every opportunity, the bastard. Her desk was full of Anders' scrawl, damning evidence if anyone should walk in and ask about it. She'd been certain to lock them in the bottom drawer, out of sight and out of mind, but she couldn't put him off any more than she could push aside the trouble she had with Merrill.

With her hands full of Kirkwall's smaller troubles - bandits, a few raiders on the outskirts, and a blood mage or two - she had nearly forgotten her plans with Cullen until she returned one night to a note on her desk at the end of the week. Even such a simple thing was enough to brighten her mood considerably and she packed that evening, though she wasn't to meet him for two more days.

She used the time to tell only a few that she'd be gone from the city, that no one was kidnapping her, and that she'd be very cross if she came back to find Kirkwall burning in her absence. Only Isabela and Varric gave her a hard time for her attempts at discretion, asking for details and gaining nothing.

By sunset on the second day, she was down by the docks to meet him, a pack slung over one arm and her blades across her shoulders, her eyes on the ships and the few workers lingering around. She couldn't be too careful, even now.

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It was a quicker route to be certain and she worried that it would leave them too exposed...but it was better than Lowtown in the darkness. She liked the odds better. With a nod, she moved to get out the few things she'd left below - her blades and her bag - and secured them into place. She wanted to be ready for whatever was waiting for them.

The docks seemed quiet for the most part, typical for that time of morning. Hawke grabbed up the rope and, as Cullen brought them to the dock itself, hopped out to tie the boat to the pier. "Let me go look around for a basket or something else for us to use," she said. She quickly recounted how many crabs they had so she'd know what size to look for. "If you hear or see anything while I'm gone, whistle for me? I won't be long."

"Right. I'll be getting the traps on the dock," he said. It wouldn't take too much time or a dangerous amount of his focus to do it. He'd be able to spring out of the boat and into action if he had to. He settled his small pack to his back and clipped his sword sheath back to his belt.

One by one, he slung the traps from the boat bottom to the dock, pausing and looking around after each one. So far so good. He climbed out of the boat and waited for her to return, wary but not worried.

With a nod, she was off. It didn't take too long for her to find supplies from other crews in the docks. The problem was retrieving a basket when most items were in crates and already pitched and ready to move at first light. Many of the nets were already in use as well, much to her chagrin.

But she eventually found a stack of opened boxes, contents strewn around in someone's haste to find something, and a sleeping crew member near them. Judging by the bottle lying beside him, he was down for the count and wouldn't be noticing if she pilfered anything from him. It took little effort to locate a small basket, big enough for the squirming crustaceans back on their boat. She pulled it free of the carnage and dug out two silver coins, placing them near the man's hip. It was up to him to find them later. Hopefully, the basket wouldn't be too sorely missed.

Hawke made her way briskly back to Cullen, holding her find like a trophy. "Here we go. One basket for the little monsters."

Three scruffy looking men slunk out of the shadows between two nearby warehouses, one of them leaning casually against the wall and the other two facing him as though just having a conversation. Sure. A nice, casual conversation in the dark hours before dawn at the docks. If they thought Cullen intended to buy that, they didn't have much worth selling.

When she returned, he said, "Beautiful! I knew I could count on you." Without turning at all, he shifted his eyes quickly in the direction of the small group, searching her gaze to see if she caught his signal. He didn't miss a beat in reaching for the basket and beginning to unload the traps. Whoever they were, they weren't making their moves yet. He felt like they still had time. It was possible, though not likely, that they weren't focused on Hawke and Cullen at all. He didn't want to start anything without provocation.

She caught his glance but didn't look, not until she'd rejoined him with the basket. "Paid for, too," she said, by way of explanation. It was when he started to unload the traps that she took a moment to see what he'd been nodding towards, the setup plain as day. Amateurs. But the two of them weren't as armed as they could be and playing it down seemed like an excellent option for the moment. At least until they could be certain if that trouble was meant for them.

"Where can we take the traps?" she asked him lowly. "Do we leave them with the boat or is someone just as likely to swipe them?" Carrying them was an option, one that would leave them disadvantaged if they were about to have company.

His smile ticked up, a little dry and amused. He wasn't sure if the payment was more for his benefit or something she'd typically do. Either way he was grateful to know they weren't depriving someone of something they'd need without recompense. He worked the lid of it down hard to keep the crabs in and straightened.

"There's a little shack one dock over," he said without either nodding or pointing in the direction he meant. He didn't want to give their observers anything to work with. "I have the key. He said we can just leave them in there, and he'll pick them up in the morning."

He leaned in as though kissing her ear, body language casual and distracted. He murmured, "Let me tote the traps. They're more likely to follow me if they're up to something and ignore you. You can surprise them." When he straightened, he offered a heated smile. He knew that one or two of them would catch it in profile.

She smiled as he worked the lid down of the basket, pleased at their catch and that it actually fit. It would be a shame if she would have had to go back and get something else instead. She patted the top once, careful not to dislodge anything as he told her about the shack. She nodded once, understanding.

She took it from him and paused as he leaned in, her smile going sly at the edges. "Just remember that you asked for me to surprise them," she murmured as a low warning, stepping back from him. If they went after Cullen, they were definitely going to get trouble from her. A hand slipped to her belt to feel for the extra knife she had tucked away, fingers sliding over the handle when she found it. She left it alone.

Without wasting too much time, or acknowledging their watchers, she nodded. "Go ahead. I have your back."

"Trust me. I'm not squeamish about that." Cutthroats deserved whatever they got. If they were smart, they'd leave well enough alone. He bent and managed to lift two of the traps in each hand. He'd have to come back for the last. Having his hands occupied had him feeling a little twitchy. He knew he could get off a smite, though, enough to give himself time for his blade. He also knew he had skilled back up.

He shot her a wink and started off. One of the lurkers melted back into shadow and left the other two still talking near the wall. Cullen listened hard and thought he heard a scrape of boot over the rooftop. Were they really going to try that? He headed down to the shack and set the traps down to fish out the key. He knew if he was going to get jumped, it wouldn't be here but on his way back to Hawke. He stashed the traps and locked the door, knowing that things could be stolen just that quickly if he didn't.

It wasn't until he was nearly back with her that the attack came, two men and a woman dropping from the rooftop and the other two closing from the ground. "You picked a bad time to go crabbing," one of them said. It was hard to tell which one. The ones from the roof had cloths tied over the lower halves of their faces.

There was something thrilling about getting approval from authority to take care of a problem, especially when they were the unsavory kind. It was even better when Aveline would condone her actions, which was rarely done. Hearing Cullen give her the go ahead brought a faint twist to her lips after he left. She'd give them about three minutes, if that, before following at a distance.

The group, she could already tell, didn't work for anyone in particular. No defining colors, no uniform, so they didn't work for the Coterie or the Carta. Definitely not part of the Red Iron. No one who would immediately recognize either of them. It was probably why they thought to take advantage of two lone people in the darkness. When the three men followed Cullen, she waited less than two minutes before doing the same, using the shadows as her cover.

The crates were probably the easiest to take advantage of in the docks for cover, strewn in increments just enough for a sneaking apostate - or a thief - to use to hide. She used it instead until she heard one of them speak. That was her cue to move, pulling out her spare knife as she stood. A flick of the wrist had it spinning into the back of the woman's head, dropping her.

Hawke drew her blades out and twirled them easily in hand, smiling. "You might want to think about asking for mercy. Just a thought."

"Listen to that," one of the men said. "Doglord bitch gets herself a pig sticker and thinks she owns the place."

Cullen drew his sword. "You shouldn't have said that," he said. "She hates it when people call them pig stickers." Without another word, he launched an attack, much faster out of armor than in it. He slammed into his target like a brick wall, teeth flying from his pommel strike to the man's jaw. The thief hit the wall behind him with a sickening crunch and slid down, not likely to get up again.

The other three weren't idle, two of them turning on Hawke and the other leaping at Cullen with fluid agility. They may not have been pros, but it didn't seem they were going to go down without a good fight first.

Hawke hopped backwards, drawing the two to her. They were quick, she'd give them that, even if they weren't very experienced. Someone either taught them the finer points of thievery or they'd been growing up in Darktown, pickpocketing their way to the top. They didn't know how to engage enemies with fighting skills and it was obvious by the way they sent one person after Cullen when he was the heavy-hitter.

She ducked under the swipe of a blade and turned her own, smacking her first opponent with the pommel of her blade right in the solar plexus. With a wheeze, he crumpled, and she was free to focus on her other target. The man jumped back into the shadows, the one who'd done so before. She missed a slice to her forearm by inches as she turned, burying her second blade into his neck as he recovered. "They're not pig stickers," she said, kicking his body back and over his crouched comrade.

Cullen's attacker was more skilled at avoiding being hit than at hitting. He danced in to deliver a wild, inaccurate slash or two with his daggers only to dart back out of sword range again just before Cullen could get in a good jab or sweep. The man kept laughing with each attempt, enough that it was a tell.

Come on, Cullen thought. Laugh just a little sooner... A cross bow bolt whizzing past his head and thunking into the wooden door behind him got his attention immediately. "Bolter!" he shouted to alert Hawke.

His eyes searched the shadows as he parried, distracted enough to take a shallow cut across the side of his thigh. He hissed and leaped back, then saw the telltale glint of metal on the rooftop. "Got you," he murmured low. The night sky erupted in a towering inferno of white energy. The lone bolter fell from the rooftop with a scream that cut off abruptly.

Cullen's attacker stared at him wide eyed. "Andraste's dimpled asscheeks, a bloody Templar," he moaned. "It's a bloody--" His shout ended in a gout of blood, Cullen's slash clean across his throat.

She turned her head at the shout, looking up and around for their hidden attacker. She dearly wished sometimes that she actually remembered to carry a bow or a crossbow with her; she was no good with ranged fighters without Varric or Sebastian. With her distracted, the other thief jumped to his feet and went for her exposed back. She turned back around and pulled out a small pellet from her belt, throwing it to the ground. In a puff of smoke, she ducked back and out of his range, circling around to get him from behind.

The startled cry of 'Templar' offered enough of a distraction to get her enemy looking at Cullen with wide, rounded eyes, long enough for Hawke to get into place. When he turned to confront her again, he was met with both of her blades buried in his chest as she spun. With a startled gasp, he dropped, and she pulled her weapons free of his body.

"Shit," she muttered, glancing around at the bodies. Her gaze flitted to the shadows, watching for any others as she made her way over to Cullen. She flicked blood from one of her blades, scowling. "Are you all right?"

"Bastard cut me," he said, glancing down at his wet pants leg, the blood black in the moonlight. "I don't think it's deep. Let's get that basket between us and get the Void out of here before we've got the guard on top of us, too." He wasn't keen on having to write an incident report if he could get around it. If he did that every time he got jumped by some thug with more greed than sense, he'd be buried under a mountain of them.

He didn't imagine that either the smite or the panicked shout had gone completely unnoticed. If it didn't bring the law running, it might bring other sorts, crazy blood mages or the Coterie looking to make the streets a little less safe one piece of the law at a time. They never seemed to distinguish much between guards and knights. It was all the same to them, an obstacle to get rid of. Wouldn't they think it a prize if they could take out the Knight-Captain?

Her eyes followed the red trail in his pant leg, coming to stand beside him so she could take a better look at it. In the darkness, there wasn't much she could distinguish, but if he said he was all right, she'd have to take his word for it. "I have some things at the estate we can use. You can walk without any trouble, right?" she asked, sheathing her blades and glancing around once more. If the guard came down on them, that would be preferable to getting ambushed by more trouble. Aveline could yell her down for being foolish enough to be out cutting down thugs, but at the end of the day, a striping was preferable to getting their throats cut.

"I'd be loath to leave you but I can grab the basket and the last trap if you want to stay here and not aggravate your cut." But that could easily leave him open to another attack if anyone did hear that there was a Templar out here.

He put his full weight on it and took an experimental step or two. It burned like a son of a bitch, to the point he had the stray concern the blade may have been poisoned with something. There was no real way to know unless he started to feel sick. "I can walk," he said with a nod.

He considered her proposal before shaking his head. "No. We'd do better sticking together at this point. If there are others coming, I'd rather make them work for whatever they want to do than make it easy to pick us off individually. We can carry the basket between us after we put away the trap. It'll leave a hand free each for weapons."

Her hand went out instinctively when he took a step forward, concerned he might be more injured than either of them realized. Once satisfied that he wasn't, she nodded and allowed her arm to drop back to her side. "There's some good news, at least." And if he could walk and he was willing, then staying together was certainly the wiser of the two options. Hawke drew her blades once more. "True enough. If you're ready..."

It wouldn't be a long walk back to the boat but the returning path would be much more problematic. She only hoped no one would come across their handiwork in the meantime.

"I am," he said. He wiped the blood from his blade on the tunic of the fallen thief and started cautiously back in the direction they came from, scanning the shadows of both street level and rooftop. If he had designed Kirkwall, he would have made sure every roof was covered in the hideous spikes that seemed to sprout on staircases like dangerous weeds and that every single one had a random weak spot guaranteed to break the leg of any thug that fell through it. It would serve them right.

He made an effort not to limp, less out of a desire to impress Hawke and more from practicality. The criminals of Kirkwall were like wild animals. If they sensed a weakness, they'd descend and tear at it until they took him down. He didn't bother trying to look at their fallen attackers. They were obvious nobodies who had gotten to be enough of a somebody in whatever hole spawned them that they thought they were ready for some new turf. If he and Hawke hadn't taken them down, one of the real roughneck gangs of the docks would've sooner or later, and probably a lot less cleanly.

"You know, I'm going to get downright testy if somebody costs us our breakfast," he grumbled. He bent to pick up the last trap, breath hissing through his teeth as more pain lanced across the slice. His suspicion that the blade had been tainted with something, acid maybe, was growing.

If her eyes could have been everywhere, they would have been for all of the watching she was doing. She didn't coddle Cullen or make a scene out of slowing down for him; she walked briskly, always a few steps ahead specifically to be certain she could catch any signs of resistance first. She was going to need to speak to Varric again about the gangs milling around the docks. Hopefully he could look into bribing someone off for keeping the place a little safer. That, or he could probably mutter some word and get someone's throat cut because she ran into trouble.

"You won't be the only one," she said, grabbing the basket. She turned her head back towards him when she heard that sharp intake of breath, brow furrowed. "Trust us to find trouble in the one place that couldn't be further from help," she murmured, coming to his side and glancing down at his wound once more. Sheathing her dagger with one hand, she then set about fumbling in the small pack she brought for anything she could have to help him.

"I'm sorry, I left everything at home tonight. I didn't think we'd be needing anything like a potion." Sometimes, she dearly wished she hadn't come to rely on Anders so much for his healing. It had made her complacent.

"I did, too." He was annoyed with himself. He had focused so much on getting out there and what they would do then that he hadn't given proper thought to what would happen when they got back. Oh, yes, they were perfectly discreet. Not a soul down at the docks at that hour would know them from any other Fereldan from a hole in the wall and would therefore have no qualms about trying to fill them with holes, too. "I think it'll be all right once I can wash it. Blighter had something coating the blade. I'd wager a week's wage to the fact."

He turned to head back the way they had come one final time, eager to get the trap locked away so they could get a real move on. The longer they stuck around, the more likely it was someone would come along, connect them to the bodies, and either want answers or revenge. Not having any qualms about putting people like that down didn't mean he liked it.

He didn't believe he was losing an excessive amount of blood. A little of it squelched in his boot, but he wasn't light headed. He thought he could feel some of it starting to dry. It itched against his skin and made the fabric stiff. Thank the Maker for small favors, then. He set the trap down to unlock the door, tossed it in with the rest, and snapped the lock back into place. He turned so that he could take his side of the basket, face registering more irritation than pain. He hadn't wanted to deal with something like this tonight.

She rubbed at her forehead briefly in exasperation, walking with him. "You'd already be feeling ill if it was poison," she said, looking him over once more. He didn't seem pale enough for that. "I'm glad they hardly knew what they were doing." Blight take the idiots in the city who thought it would be a good idea to pickpocket and kill anyone that seemed poor enough on their luck. Had they been any more efficient, they wouldn't have been so lucky. It crossed her mind very briefly that there were easier ways to get him help, all of which would make for a very, very awkward conversation among those involved. She grimaced to herself. Fine time not to think things through, Hawke.

The basket wasn't too heavy but with him on the other side and carrying part of the weight, she could free her hand up to carry her blade at her side. She sighed once as they passed the bodies and made their way to the Hightown exit. "There's always something," she muttered under her breath. "With any luck, we'll run into Donnic instead of Aveline." He, at least, would be more inclined to keep quiet about just who gutted a few thieves in the middle of the docks. No promises on what he'd mention to his wife, though.

"You feeling all right?" she asked quietly over their shared prize. She could keep most of the concern out of her voice but not out of her eyes as she looked his way.

"If their poison making skills were on par with their fighting skills, it could take a while," he said dryly. "It feels like acid." He had been hit and cut with Maker knew what over the years, things that slowed him down, made him sleepy, hurt like the Void, froze, burned, itched, and then some. This particular burn seemed to be a chemical variety, not magic.

"That would be a nice stroke of luck," he muttered. He wouldn't necessarily mind having a guard around for part of the way as long as it didn't mean it was upgraded to an incident. For an incident, he'd have to reveal who he had been with when the attack happened, and that would raise all sorts of uncomfortable questions from Meredith.

He nodded curtly, and that would have been the end of it if he didn't remind himself that he wasn't on patrol with a co-worker. "Thank you for asking," he said, offering the faintest twitch of a smile.

"Or it'd only be strong enough to feel like indigestion," she replied with a roll of her eyes. She glanced down at his leg, an action that was rather pointless; she couldn't rightly see it with the basket in the way. Either the wound wasn't bad enough for the acid to be much of an issue or he was controlled enough not to let on how bad it might have been.

She chuckled. "It would save us from being entirely exposed, certainly. We could set a new record for having the worst luck imaginable." But the night was quiet to the point that she was getting downright wary of their surroundings, even when she knew they weren't too much farther from Hightown. The real test would be the steps and the narrow streets they would need to take to get there, both of which she wasn't looking forward to doing.

Her smile was just as faint, albeit crooked, when she looked at him again. It lingered for a few seconds before slipping, her gaze turning back behind them. She tugged on the basket to give him a warning, hearing something.

"So if my cooking makes me sick, I can run with that story and stick to it?" he asked. He didn't want her worrying about something she couldn't help at the moment. If he could deflect the concern, he intended to.

He noticed the quiet, too. It wasn't that he expected a bustling hub of activity. There was usually more than this. Even the night birds and insects that could usually be heard in the area were silent.

When she tugged the basket, he motioned with his sword that they should set it down out of the way. If it was nothing, they could pick it up again and continue on their path. If it wasn't, he wanted them both with the freedom to move in whatever direction they needed. He peered into the shadows for any sign of movement.

"You could. Or you can blame it on some bad brandy. I don't think anyone will question it. We'll just need to make sure that potion does the trick because no one will believe you were cut by falling off the boat in a fit of drunken pique." ...Or maybe they'd believe it. She knew Meredith wouldn't if she spotted him favoring his leg.

She did as instructed, turning back around with a blade ready for anything. But there was nothing, the street empty and eerily silent as before. The downward twist of her lips showed her suspicion. She didn't need to say it. She'd worked with the damn Red Iron for a year. She knew what failed stealth sounded like moments before the blade hit someone's throat.

And she wasn't wrong, for the most part. There were two on the roof, one taking the opportunity to try and tackle Hawke to the ground with the weight of her descent. The other went for Cullen, the man much larger and more built than his companion. He wasn't going to waste time on taunts, either, simply pulling his sword around to go for the Templar's head.

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